


I told you never to get used to me

by 1000lux



Category: Black Sails
Genre: ...as always, Angst, Betrayal, Happy Ending, M/M, Post Season 3, but not too long after the end I guess, coming apart at the seams, flint is a dysfunctional asshole, historical spoilers?, post series kinda, silver has a crutch, silver's about to lose his shit, sort-of fix-it at the same time, talking about feelings, they lose the war, what lead up to treasure island... sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Walrus sails away, leaving Flint on the shore of a deserted island, Silver elected the new captain.</p>
<p>Two months later Flint finds Silver in a pub in Port Royal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I told you never to get used to me

**Author's Note:**

> In one of the comments to another fic of mine someone wrote something about Silver marooning Flint at some point in the future. That has stuck with me since then and so this fic came into existance.
> 
> Ah, fuck, no matter how short this story is, I sat on it for ages. Now I'm just glad it's finsihed.

I told you never to get used to me  
I still wake when you fall asleep  
I'm a whole lot of trouble  
We're in a whole lot of trouble

I told you never to follow me  
But here we are and you're in too deep

You're still trying to save me  
Use your head, baby and leave me

Run away and turn your back on me  
Or you'll be praying for the strength to leave

(Leona Lewis - Trouble)

****

The Walrus sails away, leaving Flint on the shore of a deserted island, Silver elected the new captain.

*

Two months later Flint finds Silver in a pub in Port Royal.

"Let me buy you a drink."

Silver recognizes the gravelly voice, before he's even turned to look who just slid onto the stool beside him. He tenses, the grip on his glass turning to nearly crushing.

"Well, Mr. Silver, nothing to say to me?"

It's not like he hadn't expected something like this to happen.

"Why don't we take this outside?" Silver hears himself say, when he knows that the only place that offers him at least a little protection from Flint is this pub.

Flint shrugs good-naturedly, getting up from his chair, going as far as handing him his crutch when Silver gets off his.

The night air is refreshing after the stuffiness and the smell of sweaty bodies and spilled ale in the pub. Silver takes a deep breath, it might be the last one.

They stand in a little alley beside the pub, which is a this time still free of men throwing up or sleeping off their buzz. You can see the ocean from here.

Flint stands there with a sharkish grin, eyes following every flicker of Silver's gaze.

The next second Silver is flush against the wall, a knife to his throat in a mimicry of their earliest encounters.

"You know what they do with mutineers?" Flint asks, still smiling.

"A mutineer?" Silver sneers. "Love, I've been voted for. I had to protect the crew from you. That they decided to leave you there was not my idea."

"That you'd betray me like that." There's a harsh, bitter smile pulling the corners of Flint's mouth to either side. Self-deprecating too. Like, he should have seen it coming– Probably. Or maybe he deserved it– Definitely, for what it concerns Silver.

But whatever, fuck Flint on both accounts.

"Oh, don't act like there still was anything between us. You don't want me anylonger." Bitterness rises in Silver's throat, a feeling that hasn't been washed down yet by countless drinks. "Haven't for a long time now." Can't be purged by the claim of indifference. And how sad is that? "All you want is another ship down. Another blow against the Navy." The laugh Silver gives is ugly. Ugliness was all that was left in the end. He continues in a softer voice, no less condemning. "No matter how many of us have to die for one of them. What happened on that island was on you." And the anger is right back, the anger of those last days, and he can't contain his voice. "You made me do it, you fucking bastard. And honestly, did you expect anything less of me? You knew I was capable of it. If you thought I wouldn't go through with it, then that's your misjudgement. I won't let you be the end of me."

Flint listens to his rant. Quietly. Patiently. No flicker betrays how Silver's words affect him, if at all. Silver feels a sudden helpless, futile urge to start crying.

"Is that why you sent that ship back for me?" Flint asks then, the knife drops away from Silver's throat.

Silver huffs, looking suddenly more tired than Flint's ever seen him. He shakes his head, one hand coming up to push his hair back out of his face. All the while his gaze is resting on the ocean, not Flint.

"God, James. What could I have possibly done at this point? And the worst part is that I knew this was going to happen. I knew you were unable to accept some goddamn happiness." Silver's face is screwed up with a deeper pain. "You warned me, or maybe you warned yourself." There's a crack in Silver's voice as he speaks on, a desperate cadence. "What the fuck do you want here, huh?!" His hand that's not holding onto the crutch goes for the collar of Flint's coat, clutching, shaking, demanding, holding on. "What do you want if you don't want to kill me?!"

Yeah, what for? Definitely not to kill Silver. To get answers he doesn't really want to hear? Because things will never be quite finished between them? But he hadn't expected... hadn't expected the toll he was taking on people, on that one particular person who always continued to remain unaffected by his ways. The one person who continued to matter, when everyone else had turned into expendable bodies.

"I didn't know." Flint says, like he really didn't. And Silver wants to punch him, but he's wasted too much energy already on James McGraw. "I never felt the way you said." Each word comes out slow, like he has to mill it over in his head first, has to make sense of it. "Never for a second did I stop to care, John."

Silver laughs, bitterly. "I'm to believe that? If that's what you call love, I'm not sure I want it."

Now it's Flint who laughs bitterly. "You sure don't deserve it. No one does. But still we're here. For the same reason you sent that ship for me. For the same reason I came here tonight. And we both know at no point it was to slit your throat." He pauses, one hand hesitantly coming up, brushing against Silver's shoulder, tensed with anger or resolution, rustling black curls on the way, only to be shrugged off, like a shudder from disgust or pain. "John, why didn't you say something?" And doesn't he already know the answer? Has at least a vague idea, about those weeks or maybe months where everything seemed to congeal into a mist of hate and desperation.

Silver snorts, a fake smile gracing his face. "Were we still talking? Were you listening? To anyone for that matter? The only ones you seem to have no problem talking to are the dead! Maybe once your war has killed me too you'll start talking to me again. But I sure as fuck won't let it come that far."

"I would never... I would never–" Flint seems to be genuinely appalled by this accussation, which seems farcical to Silver, must seem to anyone who'd throw an objective glance at the events of the past months. Silver doesn't let him finish.

"You're not God, James! For Christ's sake! You don't walk over the battlefield like the Valkyries and decide who dies and who gets to fight another day! And honestly I've stayed far too long. I should have left months ago. Hell, I should have left last year, after Teach got killed. But I stayed, because I'm not half as smart as I like to think myself." He pauses, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "All this means something to me too. But you and me means more. That's why I stayed on. Not because of them. Not because of England or independence. Like any of that still makes any sense." A quick reprieve to laugh at how dumb they all were. "And still," he continues, because it needs saying. No rest for the wicked. Never any peace for John Silver. "I don't want things to end between us. Not like this. No anyhow." He realises he's still clutching Flint's lapels. He lets go. "I thought I would be able to ditch you as soon as I had to choose between the two of us. But the simple and sad truth is, I don't want to. God knows I tried. And still I'm here, in this fucking tavern. I didn't want to fight anylonger. The men didn't want to fight anylonger. I could have gone anywhere with them. Away from the Navy's reach. But I knew you'd come and find me. And so I stayed. Because my fucking leg is obviously not the only thing I've lost. And the worst part is, it's not too late. We are both still alive. We could have something. We could have a life. If I have to run and leave all this behind to survive, I will. But you." Silver throws his hands up in exasperation, leaning heavily against the wall, the crutch cluttering to the floor unheeded. "This war is lost, James. You know it. I know it. Jack is gone. Teach is gone. Anne is God knows where, spirited away by Max, with the noose practically already around her neck. But you can't let go. You'd rather push me away than accept defeat. And if you still care, then honestly I can't tell." Silver feels the bricks under his palms as his hands sink down in defeat, throwing an impassive glance at his crutch, but feeling unwilling to reach for it. Again he curses the state of his leg, which all the time seems to have been an allegory for what really stops him from moving, who really stops him from getting away, has tethered him to the ship, the crew and most of all himself from the beginning.

"Alright." Silver does a double take. "Alright, we'll leave." Flint has to smile a little at Silver's incredulousness, maybe also at his own stupidity. "I don't have a ship or a crew now, do I? You took that choice off my hands. You deem me mostly self-destructive and you would be right about that assessment. But when it comes to you I'm not willing to follow my nature in that. I'm sorry, John. I mean it." There's only so far you can continue a mistake until you've run out of excuses. They can have a second chance here, which is far more than most get. And maybe this time he's going to give himself a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧


End file.
